


all this aggravation ain't satisfactioning me

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Foot Fetish, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sock Garters, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John discovers Harold wears sock garters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all this aggravation ain't satisfactioning me

**Author's Note:**

> Set very early Season 3, when Shaw was an occasional team member.
> 
> Heavily based on [this NSFW picture](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d1/4c/8e/d14c8e10686e70b75234b09ec18d3b23.jpg). And to help you visualize the location of the second bedroom in John's apartment, [here's a screencap](http://screencapped.net/tv/personofinterest/displayimage.php?album=73&pid=194242#top_display_media).
> 
> Dedicated to JinkyO, for first alerting me to the idea of Finch in sock garters, and very much inspired by her amazing fic [Little by Little](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3504134). With many thanks to Dana for weeks of handholding and encouragement, and potc for being excited when I teased her with snippets.
> 
> Title from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WWVMXLSS1cA), because I am a ball of cheese and so is this fic.

"Harold, grab the flash drive and go!" John hissed, wrenching back from the window and rushing towards him.

 

Harold stood up so quickly he bashed his shin on the low coffee table. Their number's emails needed two seconds more to finish copying, then he was disengaging it from the laptop and being hurried towards the rear door, John's guiding hand at his back.

 

"Rear stairs, two flights, turn left for the fire exit." He directed, low and urgent. "I'll sort him out, meet you back at the library."

 

Harold nodded grimly and went, propelled by one more push from John's palm.

 

\---

 

An hour later, John strolled past the gate. He'd successfully delivered Paul Ankis - thirty-four years old, father of two, would-be killer of his ex-wife - into police custody, while Harold was putting the finishing touches to the evidence dossier he was sending to Detective Fusco. Harold assessed John covertly, relieved to see there were no patches of blood anywhere on his body, no tears in his suit. He came to stand just behind and to the left of Harold's chair.

  
"Have we wrapped this one up?"

 

"Just about." Harold attached the file and hit send. "There." He sat back in his chair and spun it around to face his partner. "Time we ate, I should think."

 

John quirked a smile. "Thai?"

 

"Sounds fine."

 

"Finch, is that a knife?" John asked, apropos of nothing. Harold frowned in surprise, glancing towards his screens. Ankis had planned to use a butcher's knife in the killing, stolen from a friend of his who was in the trade, but John already knew that.

 

Harold felt a touch to his calf, and looked down to find John crouching at his feet, lifting up his left trouser leg. All at once he understood. When he'd bumped into the table, the elastic and leather fastenings had slipped, got caught on each other and folded up, creating a shape under the fabric which must have appeared to John like an ankle sheath.

 

"No, they're sock garters, Mr. Reese."

 

"Hmm. I thought maybe you were finally listening to me about carrying something for self-defence." As he spoke, John very gently untangled the inch-thick band of black elastic, smoothing it out and sliding it back up Harold's leg so that it pulled his sock taut again.

 

"You know I'm uncomfortable with weapons." Harold returned levelly, but his breaths came shallower than before.

 

John cupped Harold's leg in both hands. Harold watched as he traced his fingertips all the way around the circumference, then tucked his thumbs beneath the metal suspender clips. The expression on John's face was...well, the word 'adoring' seemed apt.

 

"I'd like to see you in these and nothing else." He admitted, whisper soft.

 

Harold's ears flushed hot.

 

There was a faint purple bruise forming on his shin, which John reverently kissed, before tugging Harold's pant leg back down and patting his knee as he straightened up. "Sorry." He said, looking faintly dazed. "Should get food." He gestured back over his shoulder with his thumb, then turned and walked out.

 

Harold took a deep breath and got to his feet. Without a word he collected his coat and followed John out of the library, but his mind was starting to kick back into motion, making plans.

 

John had given him an idea.

 

\---

 

It was another five days before he had the opportunity to put it into action. On this particular occasion, Ms Shaw joining them to take down a straightforward but trigger happy perpetrator meant the process was considerably sped up. Their work complete and with no new number coming in to replace it, Harold granted them the rest of the day off. He headed over to Baxter Street, letting himself into John's apartment. The mid-afternoon sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, warming the air and lighting up broad rectangular swathes of the wood panelled floor. John never had put up blackout curtains - Harold had been right to hope he would learn to overcome (or at least manage) his paranoia and benefit from the freedom of the open space. He still awoke from nightmares occasionally, and the absence of total darkness made his disorientation easier to recover from. When they spent the night here together, they never missed a sunrise over the park.

 

There was a second bed however, and it was this Harold wanted to use today. If he was going to...put himself on display for John, he'd prefer to do so with a modicum of privacy from the rest of the world. He made his way up the wide stairs to the split-level room which backed up over the entryway. Thick white mesh curtains covered the windows. The queen size bed was less extravagantly large than the one downstairs but perfectly comfortable. A flash memory of John kneeling up across his hips and throwing his head back as he sank deep onto Harold's cock was a reminder of just how comfortable.

 

Harold shivered and tore his gaze away from the smooth sheets, the corners tucked in with military precision. He moved to the right of the bed and walked past it to a pair of perpendicular doors in the far corner. The left one led to an en-suite bathroom, the other opened onto a walk-in closet. He went through the latter.

 

The small room was used for general storage as well as clothes. An assortment of electrical and computer equipment which had gradually accumulated here from his visits sat in a pile on one side of the floor, a selection of half-empty wine bottles in the opposite corner. Harold could never be bothered to finish them, opening a full one whenever he was in the mood to indulge, and as John's fridge and kitchen cupboards filled up with other items he moved them here. More than once Harold had suggested he pour the contents down the sink and recycle them, but John was surprisingly precious about keeping anything Harold had brought. John was ruthless about getting rid of his own belongings - 'I travel light' didn't begin to cover it - but things he regarded as gifts from Finch...

 

Above the clutter were two separate racks of clothing. John's side was full of black and white, Harold's a little more colorful. He selected a change of outfit and carried it back into the bedroom, laying the garments out over the covers.

 

He undressed to the waist and put on one of his favorite Angelo Galasso shirts, then a light pink tie and a dark vest. John had said 'nothing else', but not being generally prone to showing himself off, Harold felt more comfortable keeping his top half intact. It was a compromise that he was reasonably sure John would appreciate nevertheless. He sat on the bed to remove his shoes and socks, then rose again. His hands shook slightly as he stripped off trousers and underwear, more aroused than he had expected to be at this stage. He was getting hard at just the thought of _waiting_ for John, semi nude.

 

Harold crossed to the bedside table, took out an opaque black carrier bag from the lowest drawer, and unwrapped the sheer black dress socks and matching garters which he'd hidden there a few days before. Once again he perched on the bed and inspected his purchase. They were far too thin and flimsy for everyday use, but as an appealing addition to one's sex life, they seemed ideal. Sliding them onto his bare feet was more difficult. In his current state it was somewhat uncomfortable to bend over, perhaps he should have let John put them on him? But that would have taken away the element of surprise. Once the socks were up and the garters clipped on, Harold flexed his ankles and wiggled his toes, contenting himself with the look and feel of them.

 

He removed his heavy watch, set it on the nightstand. His discarded clothes, he gathered up and deposited in the laundry hamper, which sat against the wall next to the stairs. That done, he progressed to the next stage of his plan.

 

One of the ways to persuade John to top was to first engage his protective instincts. Harold had noticed that his partner invariably had to pat him down, dust him off and haul him to his feet if ever he saw Harold sitting on the floor. It was his way of ensuring Harold maintained his dignity, he supposed. What he required from John today had nothing dignified about it. With that in mind, Harold sat himself down on the wooden floor of the closet, leaned back against the wall, rested his elbows on the ledge behind him. There must have once been a window there, before it was bricked up as the building was converted for residential use. The planks were uncomfortable on his bare bottom; he shifted until he found a reasonably painless but alluring pose.

 

Harold felt patently ridiculous, but also...very turned on. He was picturing John appearing in the doorway, seeing him and folding immediately to his knees, crawling over to him, unbuttoning his pants, spreading Harold's legs and driving inside. Harold's cock was jutting up between his shirt tails. He tucked it back underneath them, tugged at his vest until it just about covered both. The buttons were a little too snug around the middle, but there was nothing to be done about that now. After a moment's thought he unbuttoned his cuffs and turned them up once; he'd spotted John eyeing his wrists on previous occasions when he had done that in the library. Harold straightened his tie one last time and then drew his phone out of a vest pocket, texting John to come find him.

 

\---

 

Fifteen minutes later the door below opened and shut. "Finch?" John called out.

 

"Up here, John." Harold heard his own voice wobble a little from excitement. John's heavy footfalls proceeded up the stairs. Then there were a few seconds of silence. The empty bed must have confused him. More footsteps, closer - Harold pressed his thighs together in anticipation. And there he was. But John hadn't seen him, he was opening the bathroom door. It occurred to Harold that that room would have been a more likely spot for something like this. Besides, in John's mind, sitting in the empty bathtub was a perfectly acceptable thing to do.

 

Harold gave a loud cough. John backed out of there, slowly, and turned to face him. Harold tried to smile up at him, but only managed to quirk one corner of his mouth. The reality didn't quite live up to his fantasy.

 

"There you are, I was...worried." John breathed a sigh of relief, pausing to take in Harold's state of undress. His eyes dipped from Harold's face to his tie, over his torso...and then he blinked without examining further down and refocused on Harold's face. "Are you okay, you didn't fall?"

 

Harold scowled. "I have in fact positioned myself here deliberately, so if you would be so kind as to appreciate it," he said, with a pointed glance down the length of his legs. He crossed his ankles in a manner he hoped was provocative.

 

John took a few steps into the small room, finally noticed the sock garters. His eyebrows went up and he gulped. "Is this because of what I said?"

 

Harold indicated that it was.

 

John lowered himself into a crouch, looking guilty and grateful all at once. "Oh, Harold, I didn't mean it. I mean, I _did_ , but I didn't expect you to..." He tipped forward onto his knees, set his hand on Harold's waist and leant in to kiss him, and oh, that was more like it. Harold slid his tongue past John's lips, let his phone clatter to the floor from suddenly lax fingers. He gathered John to him, pressing on the back of John's neck with the inside of his wrist, which left his fingers free to glide into John's hair. John groaned and then sucked on Harold's tongue, other hand tucked under Harold's shirt tails at the back, thumb stroking his spine just above the curve of his ass. Harold's cock escaped its makeshift confines. When they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily.

 

"I have gone to considerable trouble for your benefit, Mr. Reese." Harold got out, managing to sound stern despite his dishevelled state.

 

"I can see that." John crawled back a bit, gaze roaming all over the body spread out before him. Harold only just resisted the urge to drag him close for another kiss. John's hand travelled down from Harold's left hip, skated across the top of his thigh to the knee, at which it stopped, curled around the back. Harold had faded scars there, was vaguely ticklish. His thumb across Harold's kneecap and his fingers behind, John tugged upward. He encouraged Harold to uncross his ankles and bend his knee, carefully lifting and manoeuvring his leg until the sole of his foot pressed into John's chest. Then, just as he had done in the library, John kissed his shin, slightly below the nearly-healed bruise which Harold had attempted to cover with the garter elastic. Harold gasped and shifted, stretching out his left arm and gripping the ledge behind him for support.

 

John shot him a calculating look from under his lashes, then went back to stroking the leg between his broad hands. "What I like about these is they show off how trim your legs are. You've got well-muscled arms from all the typing and welding you do, but your legs are compact."

 

Harold wasn't sure he liked being told he had very little lower body strength, even though it was true. Regardless, he had an excellent view of John's spread thighs as he knelt there in front of him, and Harold had to concede that his own legs were...skinny, in comparison. "You know I can't compete with you as far as muscles are concerned."

 

John grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment, thanks."

 

Harold huffed. His partner had a knack for turning his self-deprecating comments upside down.

 

He half-expected John to undo the clasps and slide the socks slowly off of him, but he did no such thing. Instead he further raised Harold's leg and massaged the back of his ankle, kissed the ball of his foot, nipping at his skin through the low denier material. He even, half-playful and half-enraptured, sucked on his big toe.

 

Harold twitched away and wrinkled his nose. " _John._ "

 

John released him, the fabric a shade darker from the damp heat of his mouth. "Bit weird?"

 

Harold stared at him, mouth hanging open, and nodded.

 

John shrugged. He set Harold's leg gently back on the floor and stood up, planting his feet firmly, shoulder-width apart.

 

Bending down again, John murmured: "Hold on to me." He wound one arm around Harold's back and tucked the other under his knees.

 

"What? Oh." Harold suddenly felt out of his depth. When he'd planned this he'd wanted John to help him to his feet, not lift him all the way into his arms. Reese was strong, there was no question of it. Harold had seen him take down guys bigger than him, flip men over his back when necessary, but there was a key difference between that situation and this. He took a deep breath and tightly gripped his left wrist with his right hand, both arms around John's shoulders.

  
Despite Harold's misgivings, John lifted him off the floor without an issue. Once John was standing, though, he adjusted his grip and turned in the small space, and Harold thought he was less than completely safe. The feel of John's large hand gripping the side of his bare thigh made him want to shiver, not that he dared.

 

"If you drop me..." he complained, tucking his elbow in so it wouldn't hit the doorframe.

 

"I'm not going to drop you, Finch," John said, but there was a tightness in his jaw which suggested he was finding Harold heavier than he would admit. They were out of the walk-in wardrobe now, the bed only a few metres away. Harold briefly got to appreciate it from a whole new vantage point, before John twisted again and lowered him onto it. He settled Finch down on the bed with infinite care, going to one knee and then the other, until they were both quite tangled up together. He rested his head against Harold's throat. "There. See? You can trust me."

 

Harold tugged on his hair and pulled him into a fierce kiss, one part relief to two parts frustrated arousal. He'd been hard for near enough half an hour now, and John was _so annoying_ , and so kind and attentive in his own peculiar way. As well as ridiculously strong, which that demonstration had just proved yet again. He really hoped his comment about John's muscles hadn't prompted that little display. John was plenty full of himself already.

 

Harold wanted to be full of him, and soon. He eased away from John's eager mouth, plucking impatiently at the collar of John's shirt. "Go and take this off."

 

John searched his eyes for a second, then stole a quick kiss before sitting up and scooting to the end of the bed. If he didn't know what Harold was asking for by now, all his international spy training had been for naught.

 

His black suit jacket came off, and then Harold examined the play of his shoulder blades beneath the shirt as John untucked it.

 

"Stand up and turn around, John," he requested, softly. John did so with a shy smile. He unbuttoned his shirt from the bottom up, didn't try to make a production out of it, which would only have been embarrassing for them both. He got undressed as though he were alone, except he kept casting hungry glances at Harold spread out on the bed. Harold stroked himself while he watched John, easing some of the tension. Once John was ready, Harold took his tie off, threw it to John who caught it and in turn tossed it in the basket along with his own clothing. As John clambered back onto the bed, Harold unfastened the top three buttons on his own shirt and at once John fell to nuzzling the revealed skin. Harold ran his hands down the familiar curves of his back, tried to kiss John's hair but couldn't raise his head far enough to reach, especially not with John licking at his neck.

 

"Where's the lube?" John mumbled, the faintest hint of teeth grazing Harold's flesh.

 

"Oh. It's - ah - the shelf in the closet." Harold went a bit red in the face. Annoyed at himself, because now John was going to have to get off him again.

 

John slowly raised himself up on his elbows, comprehension dawning. "You prepped yourself before I got here?"

 

"I had a spare ten minutes." Harold let his mouth quirk into a slightly smug smile. He had at least used his time waiting for John constructively and pleasurably.

 

John huffed out a breath through his nose, making a small, wanting noise in the back of his throat. Once again he climbed off the bed to fetch the lubricant, and on his return Harold watched his cock, full and heavy and swaying as he walked. John stood by the bed, set the lube down and opened the nightstand, drew out a foil packet. Then he rolled it across the back of his knuckles like he was performing a coin trick, showing off, and Harold absolutely lost what was left of his patience. He pushed the drawer closed decisively. He rolled onto his side and sat up a little in the bed, slid his hand between John's thighs and crooked his fingers, Harold's nails digging into the back of his right leg and pulling John a step forwards until his knees pressed against the bed. John gasped and his hand shot out for balance, spread fingertips planted in the sheets. His other, empty hand gripped the nearest corner of the nightstand. Harold snatched up the dropped packet from the covers and tore it open with his teeth, unrolled it with a shake, then propped the underside of John's cock on his left index finger to hold it still while he slid the condom on smoothly with his right hand. John shuddered and bucked, releasing the wooden cabinet to squeeze Harold's shoulder instead. He was staring down at him with what could only be described as pleased shock. Harold decided he liked that expression on him very much.

 

He stroked John once, with the back of his finger, watching his eyelashes fluttering shut, then caught him at the hips and dragged him down again. Sat up in the middle of the bed, Harold spread his legs, making room for John between them.

 

John landed heavily on his knees, braced himself against Harold's chest and kissed him again, deep and ardent. Harold hummed into his mouth, drawing his own knees up and squeezing the insides of his thighs against the outsides of John's. Reese's hands wandered to Harold's calves, probing between garters and socks to tuck his long fingers beneath the thin fabric, and just when Harold thought John was about to get distracted again - he lifted Harold's legs up and out from under him.

 

The fast, smooth movement and the slight jolt of landing on his back surprised a "Haaaa-ahhh" sound from Harold. John manhandling him without warning was as arousing as it was startling. John was smiling down at him now, smug and a little shark-like, while he uncapped the lube and slicked his cock and hands. Moments later Harold found himself scrabbling for a firm grip on the sheets as John slid two and then three fingers into him, checking he was still good to go. Which was more than fine, but then he merely...played at that for a while, dipping in and out at a snail's pace and biting down on his lower lip, still grinning, as though this were a hilarious game to him. Harold wanted to _smack_ him, but all he could do was lie there and quiver and hold on and feel his own cock straining, dripping onto his belly.

 

What was even worse was when John withdrew his touch, grin fading into a thoughtful expression. He tugged at Harold's vest - Harold neglected to complain that John was getting sticky smears on it - and asked, entirely seriously: "Do you want this off? Are you gonna get too hot with it on?" As though there was any use fussing over Harold's temperature going forward when he was already as overheated as this.

 

Harold's response was half-snap, half-entreaty. "John, at this point all I care about is having you inside me. Less procrastination, more action."

 

John's eyes widened. He seemed to finally realize that Harold was at the end of his rope with the teasing, and suddenly he was all nerves, like he'd been caught neglecting his duty and needed to make it up somehow.

 

"Okay, okay." He reached down and lined himself up. Harold felt the blunt heat of him and then the push, and even as he pressed inside John was speaking, raggedly. "It really gets to me how you can still manage words of four syllables when you're this turned on."

 

"Five syllables." Harold corrected him, automatically. It was good to talk, to distract himself from the slight stretch as the widest part of John's crown breached him.

 

John huffed out a tight laugh. "See what I mean? I can't even - ah - count." He breathed harshly and audibly as he continued to sink himself, slowly and surely. Harold wanted to be impatient with him for that, but putting aside his baser instincts which just wanted John to _rut_ , he knew the man was taking care with him, allowing him plenty of time to adjust. "Is that good?" John murmured, mastering the concept of understatement.

 

Harold relaxed into the pressure, let it flow over him like drifting in a warm bath. "Ohhh, gods, yes. Go deeper."

 

In order to do so, John lifted Harold's feet over his shoulders. This caused his bad hip to twinge briefly; it quieted down in a matter of seconds. Reese moved again, but it was nothing like the forceful thrust Harold wanted. He was rocking in tiny, shallow increments, and Finch began to realize why.Bringing his legs up _had_ distracted John, for he was starting to nose at the sock garters again, eyelashes dark smudges as he happily rubbed the lower half of his face against Harold's inner ankle. The tenderness was really quite nice, but frustrating. "John..."

 

"You bought these specially for me?" John asked, without opening his eyes. For once, just for the present situation, Harold wished John was the kind of man who thought more with his cock instead of his brain and heart. Not many guys would pause in the middle of sex to admire socks, however nice they were. But John and presents...he should have known.

 

"Yes, yes, you can thank me later. Now _move_." Harold flexed his pelvic floor muscles to clamp down on him, draw him deeper.

John's hips stuttered forward. His eyes flew open and his demeanour switched from worshipful to teasing. "You're really needy for it, aren't you? I'm not used to this side of you. You're normally more focused on pleasing _me_."

 

A dozen flip, exasperated answers to that presented themselves, but the added pressure of a couple more inches drove whatever he was going to say from Harold's mind. He moaned, lifting an arm from the sheets and reaching out for John, but he was too far away to touch, too far away to kiss, kneeling instead of lying on top of Harold as he was. Reese pushed in again, and made it so that the backs of Harold's knees were on John's shoulders instead of his feet. John craned his neck so he could kiss Harold's outstretched fingers. Harold's mouth opened wide on a silent shout, and he grasped greedily at John's jaw, his cheek, his ear, until he could hook his fingers around the back of his neck. When Harold squeezed, it was John's turn to moan. Harold couldn't resist drinking in the movement of his face as he did.

 

It was wonderful doing this in the daylight. He could see more clearly the deep pink flush of John's ears, the faint glistening of sweat on his temples and shoulders. It also meant he had some notice when, by the quirk of his mouth, it became obvious John was going to say something funny again.

 

"Can you still do complex math when you're like this? Maybe that's worth exploring."

 

Harold smiled, closed his eyes to concentrate. "Try me."

 

"Uh, fifty-first digit of pi?" John suggested, apparently at random.

 

"Zero." Harold replied at once. He cracked his eyes open again to glare at Reese for underestimating him. "Hardly complex."

 

Harold watched John shrug; his collarbones looked good enough to lick. "I don't have anything good enough to ask you."

 

"Come prepared, next time."

 

"In fairness, you didn't give me a lot of _warning_ -" John didn't need any encouragement by now, and this time they groaned together as John buried himself to the hilt.

 

 _Finally_ , Harold thought. He was sweating too, underarms damp inside his shirt. Maybe John had been right before, he was too warm. But that didn't matter. John was just _holding_ himself there, pressed as deep as he could go, eking the pleasure out for them both, balls tight and hot against Harold's ass. Harold let him have his moment and then clamped down on him again, ruthlessly. He shook and his breath caught when John whimpered, drawing out just enough to plunge into him again, and again, and again. Before he truly picked up the pace he rearranged Harold's legs one more time, placed them around John's hips instead of over his back, and that was better, because it brought their torsos together and Harold didn't have to drag him closer by the back of the neck anymore. He could plunder his mouth with kisses, and drag his fingers over John's chest and neck and shoulders and back.

 

One advantage of keeping the vest on was it gave John something extra to grab hold of; he'd shoved his hand into one of the armholes, while his other was on Harold's left hip, supporting and massaging all at once. Not for the first time, Harold thanked his lucky stars for John's multitasking abilities. His increasingly forceful thrusts were becoming energetic enough to rock the bed and Harold revelled in it, this was exactly what he wanted, John not to treat him like spun glass.

 

But then abruptly his hands disappeared, and Harold nearly swore in frustration. John hadn't stopped, his focused expression gave no clues. And then Harold felt the elastic around his legs stretch, his toes bobbing higher in the air. John was holding onto the garters for leverage, using them to lift Harold's legs. Harold bit down on his own tongue and almost came, managed to control himself at the last moment. He tucked his chin over John's shoulder and watched the garter clips starting to lose their grip on the top of the socks with John's every tug.

 

"If you pull too hard, they'll break," he warned, shakily.

 

John growled. "If you're still worried about that, I'm not doing this right." He changed the angle and there, there it was, there it freaking was.

 

Increasingly desperate whines filled the air, and Harold supposed he must be the one making them, but he couldn't care less.

 

Right in his ear, John gasped "You feel amazing," sounding wrecked, and close, and breathless.

 

Harold said "Come on, John," and tried to finish him first because he _deserved_ that, but John fought him all the way.

 

"No, you first."

 

"It's not a competition!" Harold snapped, half-delirious with want. "You don't have to prove your stamina to me."

 

John went very quiet and determined. "That's not why I'm doing it." One hand let go of a garter and shoved itself between their bellies. He grabbed Harold's cock and jerked it. Abruptly Harold cried out and let go of everything. He rode the wave of his long-awaited orgasm all the way out and stayed there, luxuriating.

 

When awareness returned, John's face was very close above his. Judging by the hard shaft still splitting him open and the lack of languid, satisfied repose in John's muscles, he hadn't finished yet. Like Harold, John was freakishly good at denying himself sometimes. "I love watching you come." John explained, staring deep down into Harold's eyes like he could read all his secrets there. Harold shivered at the scrutiny, the deep and possessive quality of John's voice. "You're so controlled the rest of the time. But when you climax your nose twitches and your mouth slackens and your cheeks go all red. Besides, I consider it a great achievement when I manage to turn your powerhouse of a brain off for fifteen seconds." Harold found himself gazing back into John's green eyes, almost lost in the intensity of them.

 

And then he got a hold of himself. John hadn't come and he was still _talking_ , pointlessly self-congratulatory.

 

"For goodness' sake," Harold admonished. He turned John's head, sought out the fleshy outer ridge of his ear with his lips and latched on. He bit down with his teeth and, unprepared for the sting of pain, John went off like a rocket, filling the condom and gasping out " _Fuck_ , Finch." Panting and spent, he slowly let go of the garters, allowed Harold to ease his own legs down to the bed, and buried his face in the collar of Harold's shirt, going limp and pliant.

 

Harold patted him on the back, exhausted. "That's the spirit."

 

Neither of them moved for quite a while, catching their breath. Harold curled his toes and enjoyed the feel of his partner's comforting weight on top of him. John gradually grew soft inside of him. It was only as he slid out of Harold's body and sat up to tie off the condom that Harold noticed quite what a mess _he'd_ made. John's abdomen was splattered, Harold's shirt and vest were ruined. "Oh. We're going to need showers."

 

John ducked his head, laughed, and then beamed at him. "Don't move," he suggested quietly. Harold obeyed, because he didn't feel like moving. John scooped the torn wrapper off the carpet where Harold had dropped it earlier, and walked to the bathroom naked. Harold listened to the taps running, gingerly unbuttoning his vest but not sitting up to take it off yet. John emerged a few minutes later. He'd cleaned himself up and was carrying a couple of towels, one warm and damp and the other dry. Harold accepted them gratefully, shuffling back against the pillows and raising himself into a sitting position. While he ran the damp towel between his legs and over his groin, John went to the closet and stepped into a fresh pair of boxer briefs before returning to the bed again. He helped Harold shrug out of the vest and unbuttoned the shirt for him, kissing the bridge of his nose when Harold wrinkled it in distaste for the stains. He wrapped Harold's clothes and damp flannel in the dry towel so they wouldn't contaminate the rest of the laundry as he put them in the hamper.

 

Then he paused at the end of the bed. John's face did something complicated which Harold couldn't decipher until he reached out for Harold's toes. Harold realised John was getting to see him in nothing but the sock garters, per his original request. "May I?" John asked, looking shy all over again about his fetish even with everything they had just done. Harold licked his lips, smiled up at him, and nodded.

 

John sat down with a bit of a bounce and pulled Harold's feet into his lap. He undid the garters first, then stretched the elastic between the fore- and middle fingers of each hand to take them off. He was very careful not to let it snap back. The socks, he started from the top, rolling them down neatly and thoroughly until he reached Harold's toes. From there he gently tugged at the ends so that they slipped off, unravelled and smoothed them out flat before passing the bundle of socks and garters to Harold. Harold took them and got up to put them back in the drawer next to the bed, while John turned down the bedclothes and slid into them. Harold joined him, lay on his side facing John.

 

John briefly took his hand, letting their fingers slide in and out of entwinement. "You okay?"

 

"More than. Except...I could still use a shower." He was still feeling fairly sweaty.

 

"Later. We'll take one before we go pick up Bear."

 

Harold realised, ashamed, that he had totally forgotten about the dog. "What did you do with Bear?"

 

"Shaw's got him."

 

Harold gave a resigned sigh. "I fear he will enjoy that a little too much."

 

"He's a military attack dog, Finch. Tea and donuts and ice-cream are fine up to a point, but -"

 

"He also wants to eat _people and things_ , yes, I know." Harold finished his sentence for him.

 

John grinned, chuckling into the pillow. He reached up and cupped Harold's jaw with his fingers, the pad of his thumb resting on the divot of his chin. "I thought I might have fucked some of the snark out of you," he said, fondly.

 

Harold plucked John's hand from his face and squeezed it tight. "Not a chance, Mr. Reese."


End file.
